Break
by dakota423
Summary: EDITED! Judgment Day has come and gone, and John fights against Skynet as the leader of the Resistance. As he begins to question his own duality, he has to wage another battle: the fight for Cameron's acceptance as more than a machine. Future!John/Cameron
1. Break

Disclaimer: I don't own the _Terminator_ universe. Way to much metal for me.

(Author's Note: Well, my first TSCC fic. It's a future-fic, and it's very John/Cameron centric. It deals with John as the leader being forced to sacrifice John the human. The lyrics for this fic are from _Breathe Into Me_ by RED. Enjoy!)

Title: _Break  
_Author: Koda-san  
Rating: M

* * *

_And this is how I break apart when I finally hit the ground_

John Connor ran his hands back through his hair, staring down into the smoking foxhole. The machines had long since moved on, but like a vapor trail their wake of destruction remained.

_Another hundred lost_, he thought. _Another hundred more wounded or taken._ He sighed and kicked away a sheet of blackened metal by his foot. The clang that emanated from it almost seemed too loud to be real amidst the piles of steaming and smoking rubble that surrounded him. The sound hung in his ears long after it had stopped; he almost imagined he could feel the vibrations against his eardrums, forcing themselves into his silent brain, purposefully disturbing the quiet in his head. For a moment he stared at the plate, wide-eyed and wary until the sound died. He took a deep breath. He needed to walk away. He didn't get skiddish. Not anymore.

"Connor!"

He turned smoothly and saw one of his soldiers jogging up to him. Evans. John straightened and watched as the young man slowed to a stop, his eyes widening when he saw the hole in the ground.

"Wha--?"

John set his jaw. "Where's Parker?" he asked. The soldier didn't answer; his round brown eyes were glued unwavering to the foxhole.

"Evans!" John barked, making the soldier snap to attention. "Where's your captain?"

Evans fixed his gaze on his general and said hollowly, "He's farther back."

John nodded and walked in the direction the soldier had come from, but not before allowing himself to put a hand on Evans' shoulder for a moment. The young man didn't notice; his eyes had gone back to the smoking darkness before him. But John was shocked to find that he had let himself do such a thing, so he hurried on. He passed a few other men that paused and watched him go by, but he didn't acknowledge them. They were used to their General being cold, calculating, and that's what he intended to give them.

Never mind that that wasn't who he was.

"Parker!"

A man walking toward him stopped and looked at him, then continued forward. His dark brown hair was flecked with gray, John noticed, but his green eyes were sharp as ever. He couldn't help but admire his uncle's determination to see the end of the machines.

"Damn it!" were the first words out Derek "Parker" Reese's mouth as he saw the smoke over his nephew's shoulder. His blazing eyes met John's. "What the hell happened?" he demanded.

"It was gone when I got here," John replied evenly. "I haven't been down yet, but I'd say it was a couple of hours ago."

Derek sighed heavily and shook his head. He was livid and John knew it, but that was typical Reese. He wouldn't let someone else's rage get to him.

"I need you to go down there and check it out," he continued. "How many men do you have?"

His uncle set his jaw, one of the few habits they shared. "Enough."

John nodded, understanding. He didn't want to send anyone in either, but it had to be done.

"I'll give you an hour to get ready, then I want you down there."

Reese nodded, and John walked around him and towards the open wasteland. Derek Reese watched over his shoulder, shaking his head. He'd known him ever since the world had ended, had been sent back in time to watch out for his younger self, and then had witnessed Judgment Day again by his side. He'd agreed to a new name so that his own younger self -- or Kyle, for that matter -- wouldn't ask questions. He'd known John Connor through two lifetimes -- had been through Hell and back -- and he still couldn't understand what went on in his head. Reese grit his teeth and continued after his men.

He'd die for the man, but sometimes he wondered why.

* * *

John carefully made his way down into the subway tunnel, easing into the darkness with a kind of catlike precision. He didn't need a flashlight; he'd been down there enough times to know every crack and crevice. He walked along with his hand against the wall -- twenty steps forward to the stairs. He went over it in his mind: fifteen stairs, then seven steps forward, turn right, forward thirty-eight…

He reached the edge of the platform a few minutes later. Below him, he knew, the tracks stretched on: to the left only a quarter of a mile; the right went further on, for about five miles. John crouched down and jumped into the tunnel and started to the right. It didn't take long before he came to a bend. His hand was still on the wall, and it found a break in the concrete. He let out a sigh and climbed up into the niche, following it back until it opened up into a well-sized chamber. A small shaft of light came through a crack in the ceiling, barely revealing a table and a beaten laptop. A mattress was in the corner, a rough blanket wadded at one end; there was a battery-powered light next to it, turned off to preserve energy.

"John?"

His eyes fell shut at her voice and he let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. The light clicked on, and John followed the glow up her arm to her face.

"Cam."

His voice was a croak, a mere glimmer of what it had been in the outside world. But her dark brown eyes were soft and understanding, and she straightened and went to him.

"Who was lost?" she asked quietly as she came to stand in front of him. He absently noticed she was still wearing her jumpsuit, with the arms tied around her waist. He shook his head and shrugged.

"I don't know, the whole thing was burned to hell…" His voice ended in a whisper, and he drew his brows together. "I didn't get there soon enough. Again."

Cameron put a hand on his cheek, brushing his hair back. "It's not your fault," she said. John shook his head again.

"I could've done something. I could've gotten them out of there--"

"You would have been killed."

He looked away, unable to stop himself from smiling ruefully. "Why are we always having this conversation?"

She stared at him. "Because you keep blaming yourself when it's unnecessary."

He shook his head. "That was rhetorical."

A puzzled expression fell over her face. "I don't understand."

He put his thumb and forefinger to his eyes and rubbed them, sighing. "You know what rhetorical means."

She nodded. "'A question asked, to which no answer is expected or required; often used for effect.' I don't--"

"--Sleep, I know, Cam." He frowned. "Then what don't you understand?"

"Why you continue to blame yourself when it's not your fault."

It was one of those times where he had to stop himself from staring like an idiot. She was a machine and majority of the time she acted like one. But when she did act human -- and she'd done it often enough over the years -- it still surprised him. Surprised him and made him want to reach out and just hold her.

He sighed and walked around her instead, leaning against the metal table that served as his desk. "I blame myself because it's my responsibility."

Cameron nodded. "Thank you. I understand now."

He nodded absently, staring off into space. Cameron recognized his expression. He was upset, and she knew he would want her help. He'd told her before that she made him feel normal again, and she was more than willing to help. She walked over to him and sat down on the table, her thigh brushing his hip. She saw him close his eyes and draw a shaky breath. Cameron recognized that, too.

He was about to break.

She quickly and easily pulled him to her, wrapping her arms around him and burying one hand in his hair while the other ran up and down his back. His arms tightened around her waist and his face was tucked between her neck and shoulder and he was clutching her tight. He let out a choked sob, and then he silently began to cry. His tears were hot against her skin, and she kissed the top of his head.

She had come to understand the feeling inside of her when John was like this. He called it sympathy; she came to know the overwhelming need to protect him, to do anything she could to keep him from feeling this way, as love. It terrified her to see him break down, to see him so tortured by his duty.

She remembered the first time it had happened. He had been in his room, back before Judgment Day, and she had gone in with him. He'd never intended to cry in front of her, he told her afterward, but she was the only one who wouldn't tell him to get over it or that it would be okay.

Cameron thought about it as she held him, about how it had started just like it had now. John, so overwhelmed with everything that was going on, had begun to cry, and Cameron did the only thing logical: she used previous observations as a reference and had reached out and pulled him into an embrace. He had hesitated at first, but then clung to her like a lifeline as he sobbed quietly into her shoulder. He'd stopped after a few minutes, wiping at his eyes.

"_Not very appropriate, is it? The Savior of Mankind crying like a girl."_

_Cameron just stared at him. She hadn't understood the humor. John stared back._

"_Why'd you do that?" he asked. _

"_It seemed like the right thing to do."_

_His brows drew together. "How do you know if it's the 'right' thing? I thought--"_

_She had cut him of there with a small kiss to the cheek. He stared wide-eyed at her until he managed to find his voice._

"_Lemme guess, you thought that was the 'right' thing to do?"_

_She nodded. "My databases conclude that it is common for humans to engage in physical contact when they are upset." She cocked her head. "It's what you wanted, isn't it?"_

_His cheeks flooded with color and he sat back. He didn't say anything._

"_You're body temperature has risen .08 degrees and your cheeks are red--"_

_He swallowed heavily and looked at his feet. "Yeah, it's what I wanted."_

"_Then can I kiss you again?" When his eyes snapped to hers in surprise, she added, "I want to."_

_His brow darkened. "You can't want," he whispered._

_She frowned. "I think I can."_

"_What do you mean, 'you think'?"_

_Cameron cocked her head. "I can want."_

_He shook his head, not wanting to believe it. "What?"_

"_I'm a learning computer--"_

"_No, what do you want?"_

"_I want to protect you."_

"_No. No, that's your mission. You don't want that, you have to _do_ that." He looked at her. "Wanting something… it's like…not having to do it, but doing it anyway because it feels right."_

"_I don't understand."_

_John sighed. "I figured you wouldn't."_

"_But I want to learn to want."_

_He couldn't help but laugh. "When you want something… you feel it here." He out his hand on his chest, over his heart, then quickly pulled it away, feeling like an idiot. Cameron didn't notice._

"_In the thoracic region?"_

_John shook his head. "No, it's…" He sighed. "Never mind."_

_But Cameron continued to stare at him, so he snapped, "Look, it doesn't matter, all right? You're a machine, you're one of them, you can't feel--"_

"_Yes I can."_

_John met her eyes. She wasn't staring, but gazing at him. It wasn't a machine kind of thing to do._

"_What do you feel, then?"_

_She bit her lip, throwing him off even more. She looked nervous, almost embarrassed._

"_I like it when I kissed you," she said softly. John felt his stomach flip._

"_How do you know?" He had to ask. He needed to find out…_

"_I feel it here." And she picked up John's hand and placed it over her heart, or where it would have been if she'd had one. He could feel the warmth of her skin through her shirt, though, and his eyes snapped to hers. She was wide-eyed and looked so beautiful that John couldn't help but stare._

"_It makes me happy when I'm with you," she said. "I feel different when you look at me. I don't know what it is; I've never encountered this before. I have no program to explain it, so they must be feelings."_

_She looked so confused, and John laughed and moved his hand to her cheek. And then he was kissing her, and she felt as if her systems were shutting down and about to overheat, all at the same time…_

Cameron smiled as John clung to her. He had long since stopped crying, but she kept her arms around him. She would give him however long he needed. He'd done the same fore her.

John pulled away slowly, running a hand over his face. His green eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and his lip was bleeding from where he'd bitten it to stifle the sobs.

"I hate it," he said. "I hate having to be like this."

Cameron held his hand. "But you're John Connor--"

"Exactly!" He stood and turned on her. "I'm the general! The damn Savior of mankind! I never wanted this, I never wanted to be like this…" He clenched his fists. "I can't breathe up there, Cam," he spat. "I can't blink or laugh or _feel_ because I have to be _their_ leader. They're the ones that made this mess and I have to help them clean it up! And for what? So they can do it all over again?"

They'd been through this before. Cameron remembered. But it always ended the same.

"It's your job, John," she said. "It's what you were meant to do."

He couldn't argue with it; he never could. His shoulders slumped. "I know."

"You're strong for them, for the ones that can't be," she continued. "The leader of people who need a leader."

John managed a short bark of a laugh and looked at the floor. "You sound like my mom."

"But it's true."

He nodded. "I know."

She stood and went to him, taking his hand. "But you're only human. That's why you'll win." She smiled at him. "Because you can feel."

He gave her a small smile, running his free hand over her hair like he'd done so long ago. "I'll win because you taught me how," he said, and then he kissed her softly on the lips. Cameron's smile grew.

"I love you, John."

He put his forehead against hers and stared into her chocolate eyes. "Love you, too."

They stood there a moment, just looking into each others eyes, and then John moved his lips to her ear.

He whispered, "Help me forget."

(Author's Note: please review and tell me what you think! None of my friends watch this show, so I've had no feedback on this whatsoever. Review!!)


	2. Breathe Into Me

Disclaimer: I don't own _Terminator_ or anything related to it. Also don't own the song.

(Author's Note: OMG! stares at computer in shock I had no idea I'd have so many reviews in less than twenty-four hours! It made my day completely, thanks to all that reviewed!

Xeal II: So glad you found it. Hope you like this chapter!

Myxale: The last line of the chapter is my favorite too. This whole fic is centered around it, I think.

Starclipper01: I forgot to add -- as far as Derek is concerned, I'm not sure where exactly I'll go, but he'll be in this one, don't worry.

Matt: I agree. John needs someone to cling to if he's gonna keep from going crazy.

Lily: Thanks for reviewing! I absolutely adore Cam/John ships. It just seems right.

Chris St. Thomas: Thanks. I didnt see a reason why Derek should die, plus it seemed like something fun to play around with.

lily1121: well if I told you that then it wouldn't be a surprise would it?

To neko and Alisha: Hope you like this chapter!

Whew! Okay, so this is now gonna be a multi-chaptered fic, thanks to you guys. You got me thinking about all kinds of things! Oh, and I'm thinking of upping the rating, just to be safe. Please enjoy this chapter!)

* * *

_I'm falling, falling faster  
Breathe your life into me  
I still need you_

Cameron was his safe-haven.

That's what John thought as he lay on the mattress in the dark. His head was resting on her bare stomach, his arm slung across her hip. Her fingers were slowly drawing circles on his back, tracing over the pale pink scars that were scattered across his skin. He inhaled, breathing in the sweet scent of her and savoring it. Despite the smoke and dirt and ash of the outside world she somehow managed to smell like the perfume she used to put on, before the bombs had fallen. It was an anchor for him, he knew; it reminded him that there was still something he was fighting for.

He was fighting for life.

He sighed and kissed her belly, just below her navel, then sat up. Cameron sat up with him, her dark hair falling over her shoulders and looking black against her pale skin. John had to catch his breath. She was just too beautiful sometimes.

"Are you better?"

He nodded. "Yeah… Cam?"

"Yes?"

He shook his head. "Never mind."

"You're lying. What is it?"

"It's nothing."

But she knew better. His face was still lined with worry, and his jaw was set in that grim expression that had appeared on Judgment Day and had made it's home there. She could remember precisely the moment it had happened; the thought was still fresh in her mind. He had forced himself to watch the bombs destroy his home, and that stone-solid expression had been on his face. Cameron knew he was still bothered by the appearance of it.

"I want to help."

He shook his head. "You can't understand," he said, and then he saw the hurt look in her eyes and he instantly regretted even opening his mouth.

"No, Cam, I didn't--"

She cocked her head. "No, you're right. I don't understand. But I try."

John stared at her, first in surprise, then in complete and unadulterated awe. _This_ was why he needed her. _This _was why he loved her so much. She tried for him without him asking her to, and that made him want to keep trying, too. He would never stop being amazed by her ability to teach him things he never expected to learn from one of them.

_No,_ he corrected himself, _not one of them. She's different. She __**feels.**_

And in that moment John Connor couldn't have been more thankful to his future self for sending her to him. Her mission had been to protect him from any threat, but it wasn't a mission anymore. It was her decision. And he was thankful for that, too, because she saved him time and time again from the biggest threat of all: himself. He wondered if the future John had fought against the same pain, if he had been eaten away by the same guilt, and had made the decision to spare himself that pain in another lifetime. But however it had come about, John was glad Cameron had been sent. She made the guilt go away, she made him believe enough in himself to go on with the fight. She helped him understand.

And he loved her more for it every day.

Cameron watched him, her eyes almost pleading.

"Help me understand, John."

His eyes searched her face, looking for something he already knew was there. And then he took her cheeks in his hands and he kissed her forehead and then her lips.

"Always."

* * *

Hours later, Cameron was walking towards one of the bunkers, a burnt-out hole in the ground that served as one of the leading base of operations. Her face was expressionless, her brown eyes scanning the desert terrain as they always did with a cold air of finality. The soldiers she passed at the opening of the bunker stared at her, distaste evident in their eyes, but they didn't dare say a word. They knew if they did, Connor would find out, and when that happened, they'd be sent on some mission or another.

The soldiers of the Resistance had come to fear being sent on missions.

Cameron knew this, and as she walked by the guards she flashed a smile at them. _Keep 'em guessing_, John had said. So she did.

The bunker was dark and overcrowded, but a path emerged from the rabble the minute Cameron stepped into the hall. These people knew metal when they saw it, and they didn't have to be told twice to stay out of its way. She felt a twinge of sadness at the edges of her mind. Never mind that she was supposed to be a killing machine; why couldn't they just accept that she was different and truly on their side? She'd never known how bad the discrimination was until after the bombs fell. She hadn't felt before that.

Cameron walked down the hall, taking long, sure strides. She knew where she was going, what she had to do.

But she didn't have to enjoy it.

She reached the room she'd been told to go to and stopped before it. She knocked once, waiting for a response. When one didn't come, she turned the knob and walked in.

Derek was lying on his bed, his hands behind his head. His eyes blazed as soon as he saw who was standing in his doorway.

"Get out," he spat. He saw no reason to elaborate. Cameron ignored him.

"John sent me."

"Then he's wasting his time. Like always."

She cocked her head, retaining her blank expression. He wanted her to be metal, so that's what she would be.

"He wants a damage report."

"Tell him he can come get it himself."

"I can't do that. My orders--"

Derek sat up, swinging his legs to the floor with a strange sense of calm. "I don't give a damn what your orders are. Get out."

Cameron frowned, letting herself be puzzled. A shadow fell over Derek's face; when she showed emotion, it always made him nervous.

"John wants a status report," she repeated slowly. "On the foxhole that was attacked--"

"Then I'll give him a status report. Just as soon as he gets his lazy, high-and-mighty ass down here."

"Why do you hate him so much?"

He was so thrown off guard by the question he actually let his mouth hang open for a few seconds. He shut it, then opened it again to say, "That's none of your damn business."

"But you know it is."

He was hating her more and more every time she opened her mouth. But he couldn't help but reply.

"I don't hate him."

Cameron nodded and fingered the button on her shirt pocket, her eyes to the floor. Derek watched her cautiously, his hand just inches away from his gun holster. He could hear her voice in his head from ages ago -- or would it be months from now? _Sometimes they go bad_… But how could she go bad if she was so human sometimes? He couldn't deny that fact, even if it scared the hell out of him.

This was one of the things that worried him about his nephew, that he trusted metal enough to send it out on errands. Even worse were the rumors going around that their General, the one fated to defeat Skynet, slept with it, might even be in _love_ with it. He shook his head, trying to get rid of that thought. He'd seen the way John had looked at her, he knew the rumors were true, but that didn't mean he had to accept it.

"John wants to see you. Please come with me."

And there it was, the machine back in control. Her face was devoid of all expression. She just stared at him with those blank eyes. Derek sighed in exasperation and stood. If John wanted to see him, he might as well give him the what-for while he had the chance.

"Fine. Where is he?"

(Author's Note: Well, tell me what you think! It'll be a while before another update, as I have MAP testing for the next to weeks at school. Lets hope my muse decides to give me some ideas in my free time. Review and tell me what you think! I'm never sure if I get the characters right.)

* * *


	3. Lord Knows I've Tried

Diclaimer: Don't own Terminator. Kinda wish I did. Then I could have my own personal servant who could beat up people I don't like. Lyrics by Imogen Heap.

(author's note: Okay, this chapter is exempt from the lyrics being from _Breath Into Me. _

wow. eighteen reviews so far. I'm shocked. Really, I am.

**bbaluver3**: Sarah Connor dies before Judgment Day. For the timeline of this story (which is really fuzzy) Sarah has been dead for several years.

**Tpolich:** Thanks. I'm starting to enjoy writing Derek. He's very different as his thought process is a lot more straight-forward and blunt. Hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Heth:** Thanks a lot. I always thought that Cameron was sent for more than just to protect John.

**Chris St Thomas: **Ah. T3. Well, in writing a future fic with Cam in it, you kind of have to dismiss T3 all together, because that involves Kate and other plotlines that mess with the TSCC universe. I wanted to keep this entirely within that playing field, so John saw the bombs hit LA. He needs a reason to be battle-hardened, and I thought that event was as good as any. Thanks for the comments, hope you enjoy John and Derek's interaction in this chapter.

So the rating's gone up, mostly for language. Derek has such a sailor mouth. But I hope you all enjoy this chapter!)

* * *

"_Don't blame me, don't maim me  
__I can't help what I am  
__Oh Lord knows I've tried to"_

John didn't want to hear a damage report. He dreaded listening to the long lists of casualties: the wounded, the dead, the ones MIA -- it tore at him.

But he sat and waited for his uncle to come anyway. Hearing what was lost helped him decide what was best to gain.

He made sure his expression was entirely blank when Derek walked in. He couldn't even be John to his uncle, but it was a small price to pay. Derek Reese wouldn't take crap from a whiny nephew, but a stone-cold general? He'd argue but obey in the end. But John had to suppress a smirk when Derek walked into his room, escorted by Cameron, with a look of something John had never seen before on his face. Then he recognized the look. It was one his mother had worn often when she was alive.

He was about to get told off.

"Derek, before you start bitching at me I need a status report on the damage to the bunker." He said this with an air of calm severity as he walked around his desk and sat down on the edge of it. He fixed his uncle with a hard gaze, and Derek glanced at Cameron, who was standing off to the side.

"Get the metal out of here," he said.

John didn't blink. "She's fine where she is. Tell me about the bunker."

Derek glared at Cameron a while longer before he started. "The thing's trashed. Nothing left. Only a few survivors, but they're burnt pretty bad. Doc says they probably won't make it overnight. Everyone else was either killed or taken. We couldn't find any bodies." He said it all with a cold kind of seriousness that never ceased to give John the chills. But he didn't show it. Instead he looked down at his feet and nodded.

"Were they--?"

Derek shook his head. "No. They weren't there."

John nodded again. The names didn't have to be spoken, they both knew who the other was talking about. Their parts had yet to be played, and if either of the Reese brothers died, they didn't know what would happen. That was messing with Fate in ways neither of them wanted to attempt.

They stood in silence for a while, then Derek said, "Do I have permission to bitch at you now?"

John had to laugh at that; he couldn't help himself. "What is it, Derek?"

He looked at Cameron again, who was still standing silently in the corner, then back at John. "I want that thing out of here."

"She stays where she is."

Derek shrugged. "Fine then." He crossed his arms. "I wanna know what's going on between you and the machine."

John looked as if he was going to smirk, then he sighed and shook his head. "Cameron?"

The Terminator looked up. "Yes?"

John jerked his head toward the door, and she nodded and walked out, but not before giving Derek a blank stare. But the stare was a threat, and Derek shifted his weight to the other foot. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to fill her skull with lead, regardless of the fact that if he did, John would return the favor. But that was why he was here, wasn't it? When the door shut, Derek didn't waste any time.

"Are you fucking the robot?"

John didn't move. His expression didn't change, but the corners of his lips tightened slightly, like he was trying not to smile.

"Derek--"

"I mean it, John. Are you screwing metal or not? It's been going around--"

"They're rumors, Derek."

Derek frowned. "Rumors that have a hell of a lot of evidence to back 'em up."

John just shook his head. "Is that all?"

"Oh, no. You're not dismissing me this time. I want an answer, Connor."

He sighed and met his uncle's eyes. "What do you want me to say?"

Derek took a moment to reply, because it had been so long since he'd seen actual emotion in his nephew's features. But John knew what he wanted him to say; there was no point in skirting the truth.

"Doesn't matter what I want you to say. You're not gonna listen."

John smirked and looked down at his feet, and suddenly he was seventeen years old again and Derek had just cracked a joke while they were at the park eating ice cream. Derek sighed and went to sit next to him on the desk.

"It's funny," he said, looking at the wall across from them. "Me and you're mom tried our best to stop it from happening. But it didn't make a difference, did it?"

John looked up at his uncle. "Derek--"

He shook his head. "You know I don't like it. You know I don't like _her._" The word was forced, but John was grateful for it regardless.

"But it doesn't matter," he continued. "I can't stop you from fucking your life up."

"Like it isn't fucked up enough?"

Derek shrugged. "I just wanna know what the hell you see in that -- her."

John frowned. "It's hard to explain. You wouldn't get it."

"I don't want to get it."

It was John's turn to shrug. "Understandable."

They were silent a while, just sitting there and contemplating the quiet. Then John broke it.

"I need her, Derek."

The older man shut his eyes, wishing he hadn't heard the words come out of his nephew's mouth. It was just wrong. Wrong on so many levels. But…

Derek sighed. "John, don't tell me that."

"Mom understood. In her own way. It was the same way she needed my dad."

Derek looked at John, and he couldn't deny that he was right. Sarah had needed someone to understand her mess of a life, and the one person who could had been taken away from her. He had to stop and think about it, but it made sense. In a sick, twisted kind of way.

"She's the only one who gets it," John said. "Cameron's the only one who understands."

Derek shifted and looked away. Their little heart-to-heart was becoming more uncomfortable by the moment. But if it had to be said, then a Reese wasn't about to back down.

"Like I said. You can fuck up your life if you want." John frowned and opened his mouth to reply, but Derek cut him off. "I don't want to hear anymore about it. Just… are you seriously screwing the thing or not?"

He just smirked and looked at his feet. Derek grimaced.

"That's beyond fucked up."

They both laughed.

(A/N: A much-needed reprieve from the angst, I think. Cameron's not the only one who keeps John from falling away... Review please and tell me what you think!)


	4. Standing on the Edge

Disclaimer: Don't own TSCC...

(Author's Note: Okay, so I think I have this whole timeline thing straightened out. For future reference, this fic takes place a year after John and Kyle escape from Century Work Camp, 2022. John is 34 not including the 8 years skipped from 1999 to 2007, post-time-displacement Derek, aka "Parker", is 52 and yes, I did the math; he was 32 when he went back to 2007, Kyle Reese is 20, and pre-time-displacement Derek is 27. Someone PLEASE correct me if all that math is wrong. Anyway, I just wanted to clear some of that stuff up. It's been driving me mad ever since I posted the last chapter… Oivay. Please enjoy this chapter. Its' more of a look into Cameron's head, I think.)

* * *

_And this is how it looks when I am standing on the edge_

Cameron waited outside the door, the General's silent sentry. The Resistance fighters that passed glanced at her in a myriad of emotions: fear, hatred, trepidation - their eyes said it all. But she didn't notice.

She was too busy eavesdropping.

John would call it rude and inappropriate, but he was still used to teaching her social skills she didn't need. Derek would want to shoot her, but when did he not? Cameron simply knew it as a helpful tool in getting what she wanted.

And she wanted to know what Derek and John were talking about.

She could pick up the low tones of their voices, somewhat muffled through the titanium blast doors, and she zoned in on the sound, intent to discern something…

"What are you doing?"

Cameron snapped her head to the little girl standing in front of her. Her round blue eyes were staring up at her; her cheeks were dirty and her blond hair hung in ratty strands about her face. Cameron cocked her head and searched her files for identification.

_Civilian_ was all that came up.

"I'm standing guard," she said to the girl.

"In case the robots get in?" The blue eyes widened considerably as she rocked back and forth on her heels. Cameron nodded, and the girl nodded back.

"What's your name?" she asked.

Cameron thought about what she should say. It was only a curious child; there was no harm in talking to her. But Cameron knew that the parents of the girl - if she had any - wouldn't like that she was talking to a machine. But that part of her that had learned to feel began to experience something like empathy for the girl, and she smiled and knelt down in front of her.

"I'm Cameron," she said with a smile. "What's your's?"

The girl smiled. "Evelyn."

"How old are you Evelyn?"

"Seven."

Cameron nodded, eavesdropping entirely forgotten. "You're a big girl, aren't you?"

Evelyn nodded vigorously. "Yup. I can catch rats better than any of the boys."

"That's quite an accomplishment. I bet General Connor would be proud."

Her eyes lit up. "Really? Do you think he'd let me fight like Michael?"

"Who's Michael?"

She said very matter-of-factly, "He's my brother. He's outside." She nodded for emphasis. Cameron nodded with her.

"I'm sure the General will let you fight when you're old enough."

Evelyn frowned. "But I wanna fight now. I wanna kill Terminators."

"Now, now, let's not get ahead of ourselves."

Evelyn gasped; Cameron stood and saw John and Derek coming out of John's room. Derek was glaring at her with a new kind of disgust. John, however, was watching the girl with an amused look on his face. But Cameron saw the pain that it was masking.

"But I do!" Evelyn said, stomping her foot. "I wanna help Mikey!"

John nodded and crossed his arms. "I'm sure you do. But for now you need to run off and find your family."

Evelyn looked crestfallen, but she did as she was told and took off down the hall. All three of them watched her go before Cameron turned to the men.

"Are you done talking now?" she asked, her voice emotionless. Derek scowled.

"Don't give us that machine shit."

She frowned. "I don't—"

John shook his head, cutting her off. "Cam, we heard you talking with her."

If she could have blushed, that would have been when it happened. To compensate she looked at her feet. "Was that wrong?"

"It was creepy as hell, if that's what you mean." This from Derek, who looked like he was going to glare right through her coltan-alloy skull.

"No," John said, ignoring his uncle. He looked around the hall, then turned toward his room. Cameron understood this as an order, and followed suit, walking though the door. John looked at Derek.

"You're dismissed."

Derek had to restrain himself from telling him off again. But he wasn't Derek Reese, John Connor's uncle out here in the real world. He was Captain Parker, and he hated every second of it.

"Yes sir," he said through gritted teeth, and he walked off. John watched him go with a hint of amusement in his eyes, then went back into his room. Cameron was waiting by his desk.

"You're angry at me," she stated. John shook his head.

"No. You did the right thing." He leaned against the closed blast door and sighed, shutting his eyes. "Just… be careful."

"About what?"

"Looking too human."

She frowned. "I don't understand."

He ran a hand over his face, and Cameron could see the lines around his eyes and on his forehead as he drew his brows together.

"I don't want them becoming too accustomed to Terminators who act like humans."

"But she didn't know I was-"

"Exactly, Cam." He opened his eyes and walked over to her, his face a mask of anxiety and worry. "She didn't know. Her and her family barely escaped a bunker raid a few years back. One of her brothers was killed. She's seven years old and she already understands vengeance against the machines. It's more than just fear for her, its anger. Cam, if she'd found out-"

Cameron took his hand in hers, not wanting to hear anymore. "John, I understand."

He pulled his hand out of her grasp. "No, you don't. You don't understand how dangerous it is for you here, how bad they want to hurt you-"

"They're not a threat."

"And that's the point, Cam." His green eyes were wild. "If they got to you, if they decided that they wanted to get rid of you-"

"-I'd take care of them."

He stared at her, unbelieving. "Cameron, I forbid you to harm any human here."

She frowned. "My mission is to protect you from any and all threats-"

"Do it, Cam. It's an order."

And she couldn't stop her systems from running the mission program. The words flashed across her HUD, and she hated them. She felt her eyes burning with tears she couldn't shed.

"I wouldn't hurt anyone that didn't deserve it, John," she spat at him. "You know that."

He just shook his head. "I have to be sure. I can't afford-"

"To trust me?" Her voice was strained, and she saw John flinch at the sound of it. "John, you can trust me, you know that. What is this about?"

He sighed and looked away. "Derek says there's a rumor going around about us. About…"

But he didn't have to explain anymore; she understood. She took John's hand and squeezed it. "I understand," she whispered.

"We have to be careful," he said quietly. "You shouldn't be around me so much."

"But how can I protect you if I'm not around you?"

He shrugged, looking a little lost. "We'll figure something out." A small smile crept to his lips. "I could just keep you in here. Not let you out."

"Like a pet?"

"Everyone apparently thinks you're that anyway."

But they both knew it wouldn't work.

"We'll figure something out," he said again, looking down at her. He brought a hand up and cupped her cheek. "You heard what Derek said to me?"

She shook her head. "I tried, but I couldn't hear."

John smiled. "He gets it. He doesn't want to, but he does. And if my uncle can understand, maybe the rest of them eventually can too."

And as he took her into his arms, Cameron felt hope for the first time.

* * *

(Author's Note: This chapter just kinda came outta nowhere… please review and tell me if it makes any sense. I honestly have no idea where its going... but I think it might be John's fight for Cam to be accepted... just a thought... REVIEW!)


	5. Running Away From You

**Disclaimer:** Still don't own the Terminator franchise. Would I be writing fanfics if I did?

(Author's Note: Whew, sorry its been a while. I was pretty busy this last week or so... Plus I kinda had to get away from this particular fic. So instead I wrote two lil one-shots! If you haven't read them yet, they're _A Fighting Chance_ and _Birthdays and Builtdays_. Anywho, I finally got around to writing the next chapter! Like those of you who expressed this particular issue in your reviews, I didn't know where this story was going either... But I think I have it figured out.

**Miguel Artadi:** Thanks; I hope you enjoy what I'm planning for this story.

**Galloway:** Ah, irony... it's a beautiful thing, isn't it?

**Allie108:** Oh good. I like to keep people guessing.

**Virgil Eco:** Thank you very much! Its not often that I get comments on my actual writing style; I appreciate the comment. As for Cameron... well, you'll see.

**Alisha: **Thanks! I felt a new voice -- despite how small -- needed to be brought in for a different point of view. Glad you enjoyed it.

**Matt:** I understand entirely where you're coming from. It _was_ a low blow for John to order her not to hurt anyone; I also think that he understands that it was low and is going to try and make up for it. He just doesn't know how yet. As to your comment about John not trusting her, I hope this chapter will explain a little bit of where the poor guy is coming from. And the hiding her away... I'm not sure but I think John meant that as a joke...

**Tpolich:** Its that particular thought that I'm trying to change within the soldiers' minds. It wont be easy though.

Okay! As an overall comment to my readers: What everyone needs to understand is that, as a writer, I have absolutely no control over what the characters in these stories do. They're the ones dictating; I just write it all down. They take control and run away with it... so if something totally crazy happens it's not _entirely_ my fault. If you don't understand that... you obviously don't write.

Enjoy this chapter!

* * *

_**This is where I lose myself when I keep running away from you**_

_He was running._

_Feet pounding, heart screaming in his ears, lungs threatening to explode. The ground flew past him, hardly present beneath him. But each step was a jolt to his body, a jarring surge of pain and exhaustion._

_But he couldn't stop. He had to run, always had to keep running…_

_Ammunition exploded at his feet, and he screamed, covering his head with his arms. _

_He didn't slow down._

_The HK trudged behind him, its metal tracks rolling effortlessly over the terrain. He felt its targeting systems locked onto the back of his head, could feel the infared burning into his skull._

_He ran, farther and farther, but he never got away. The HK was right behind him, patient, waiting for the perfect shot._

_His lungs were on fire, his breathing harsh and ragged. His legs screamed, the muscles near to breaking…_

_The ground suddenly disappeared beneath his feet and the air crackled with the energy of an explosion. He was thrown into the air, his ears roaring. Light and sound combined to blind and deafen him; his scream was lost in the cacophony. Any breath left in him was expelled when he landed on his back._

_He opened his eyes and stood, slowly, with finality, to stare death in the face. But it wasn't an HK towering over him as he'd expected._

_It was her._

"_C-Cameron--!"_

_She raised the pistol and pulled the trigger._

John shot out of bed, eyes wide. Sweat dripped from his forehead and down his bare chest; he ran a shaking hand over his face, forcing himself to wake up and calm down.

He wasn't dead.

He pushed the blankets aside and swung his legs to the ground, burying his face in his hands and taking a deep breath. He hadn't had that nightmare in years…

"John?"

A warm hand settled on his back, comforting and concerned. He turned his head and saw Cameron sitting up, the blanket pulled around her shoulders. He knew the modesty was for his sake, but somehow it made it all worse.

"Nothing. Nightmare."

She was about to say something, but he got up before she could. He found his pants and pulled them on; they were followed by his belt and holster.

"You're upset. What happened?"

He shook his head; she persisted.

"You haven't had a nightmare in three months and fifteen days," she stated. "Why tonight?"

He was looking for his shirt as he shrugged. "Dunno."

Cameron let the blanket fall away and she stood, hoping to distract him. Much to her dismay, John only glanced at her naked body before continuing his search. She sighed, something she'd invariably picked up from him.

"John, why won't you talk to me?"

He sighed and sat back on his heels, bunching his fists to rest them on his knees. "Cam…"

She frowned. "You're still mad at me from yesterday."

He shook his head. "No, that's not it. My dream…" He sighed again and went back to finding his shirt. Cameron watched him, wondering how long it would take him to realize it was on the bed.

"You killed me."

"Hm?"

He sat up and met her eyes. "You killed me. In my nightmare."

She nodded slightly. "You had that one before Judgment Day a lot, didn't you?"

"Yeah," he said, then looked back at the bed. He frowned when he saw his shirt lying on the end of it.

"You do that on purpose don't you?" he asked her as he got up and pulled it on. Cameron couldn't suppress a smile.

"I'm sorry."

John smiled too, and it made Cameron glad, despite how sad it was. They were silent a while, and John took the time to load and holster his pistol. He never felt right without it; he had his mother to thank for that.

"John?"

"Hm?"

"How are you going to get them to accept me?"

He snapped his head around to stare at her. She was giving him her usual wide-eyed look, but there was more to it beneath the blankness -- she was truly worried. He gave her a soft smile.

"Cam, we'll find a way."

"They don't like me, John. They never will."

"You're being ridiculous."

"No. There's almost a 100 chance that they will not accept me as a fellow soldier."

He rolled his eyes and sat down on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots. He glanced her way.

"Put your clothes on please."

"Why? We're the only ones in here--"

He grinned and abandoned his boots to look her over. "You're distracting me."

Cameron looked down at her bare body, then back at John, her face still set in that wide-eyed stare. He chuckled at her and grabbed a boot and started pulling it on. She cocked her head, then found her assigned blue jumpsuit and put it on. When they were both finished dressing, they stood and faced each other.

"Stop staring and come here."

Cameron smiled and stepped into his arms, laying her head on his chest. John held her close, but the images of her staring down a gun at him wouldn't leave his mind.

* * *

"We've got reports on the troops you sent out last week, sir--"

_I'm avoiding her…_

"Parker's command just got back, sir. He wants to see you--"

_She wants to see me, but I keep sending her off…_

"A Centaur Patrol was spotted just north of here, we lost a couple men on guard duty--"

_I gotta talk to her._

"Sir, a transmission just came in from the Burbank bunker, they need rations--"

_...maybe later..._

"Sir?"

John nodded absently and waved them all away. The dismissal didn't faze his officers; they simply saluted and backed out. When they were gone, he pressed a button on his intercom and spoke into it.

"Somebody get Perry in here."

There was static on the other end, then someone clicked in, "Yes, sir," and the intercom went silent. John smoothed his hair back off of his forehead and sighed, pulling out a series of maps -- some salvaged, others crudely drawn on scraps of homemade paper -- and laying them on the desk in front of him.

There was a knock on the door, and John said calmly, "Come in."

The door opened and Perry stepped in. John regarded the tall black man briefly before looking back at the maps. He didn't say anything for a while, and Perry just stood in front of his desk, stance at ease.

"You're not going to ask why I called for you, Captain?"

"No, sir. I figured you'd tell me eventually."

John resisted the urge to smirk. If any of his officers (other than Derek, but that was a given) knew him, it was Perry. The man had escaped with him from Century, understood that it was impossible to understand him or his actions. As a captain, he was indispensable; as a human…

He blinked, erasing the thought from his mind. He hated that he had to sacrifice men for the better good, especially when they were decent ones like Perry.

"Sir?"

John shook his head and looked up at Perry. "You heard about the bunker at Burbank?"

The captain nodded. "They're running low on food stores."

John nodded back. "I need you to organize a team to get them a month's rations. About ten men ought to do it."

Perry nodded his assent, and John went back to studying the maps. The captain knew that he had been dismissed, but there was something on his chest he just had to get rid of.

"What is it, Perry?"

"Sir, it's about the reprogrammed machine…"

John sighed and folded his hands on his desk, focusing all his attention on the man before him. "What about her?"

Perry swallowed, searching for the right words. John knew he had balls to bring Cameron into the obviously ended conversation; he was interested to hear what he had to say in the men's defense. Because, honestly, who else would have prompted him to bring her up? Perry knew better than to ask about her intentions; the roots of the discussion lay entirely in the heads of his men.

"Sir, the men are wondering…" He held his head up, snapping into attention. Again John shoved the smirk away. "The men are wondering what use it is to us, sir."

"At ease, Captain."

Perry relaxed, but only slightly.

"Perry, what do you think about her?"

"Sir?"

John stood up and walked around his desk, leaning against it with his arms crossed. He let an amused expression play across his features.

"Seriously. What do you think she's with us for?" He fixed Perry with a small, heartless smirk. "Be honest."

It was one of those tests, Perry knew it was. Connor liked making his men walk into traps. It was this kind of conversation that got men sent on suicide missions; he wasn't about to slip up and say the wrong thing.

"It's a good fighter, sir."

An eyebrow went up. Perry swallowed again.

_Shit._

"Is that all? C'mon, Captain, tell me how you really feel."

Connor looked like he was enjoying this. Perry looked down at his general, wondering what kind of sick game was playing itself out inside his head. That was what scared him the most: the fact that, even though this man was obviously the one meant to lead the Human Resistance, he did it so rashly and was so erratic in his decisions he seemed crazy.

Perry was walking a thin line, and he knew it.

But this was also the man that had busted them out of Century, the man that had sacrificed his life to save hundreds. It was like looking at a mirror that was shattered into a thousand pieces -- you couldn't tell which image was the real reflection. Perry decided to take the risk.

"The men think that she's your whore, sir."

Connor's eyebrow rose higher; the smirk grew. "Is that right?" He fiddled with a map that was lying next to him on the desk and said almost inaudibly, "Well it's not too far from the truth, is it?"

Perry frowned, not sure he'd heard him. "Sir?"

He shook his head. "Never mind. I want that convoy organized by 1900. You're dismissed, Captain."

Perry snapped to attention and saluted. John nodded back, his brow furrowed and his gaze elsewhere. Perry sighed quietly, and turned to leave. When the door had shut, he sighed and settled back against his desk.

He could still see her, gun in hand. He could still feel the bullet entering his brain.

John shook his head, violently, as if the force of it would rid his mind of the offending memory.

He had to talk to her before he went insane.

(Author's Note: Oh boy. Poor John... Anywho, please REVIEW and tell me what you think of this chapter! If you read it, you should review; its the polite thing to do. hm, rhyme...)


	6. The Words You Spoke to Me

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the Terminator franchise. I'm playing the sandbox and I'll clean up when I leave, I promise.

(Author's Note: OMIGOSH HI EVERYONE!! Yeah, WOW, its been a long time... I apologize for the super long wait, really I do. As you can see, I finally forced myself to sit down and write and not leave the computer until I had a full chapter. No food, no soda. After about five hours, I managed to crank this out. I feel so bad, I posted the last chapter in _April_ and its _July..._

**Alana84:** There's a plot? Seriously?? Lol, I'm glad you've found one, cause honest-to-god, I don't know where this is going...

**jaf1079:**Thanks so much! I'm sorry, John and Cam don't get to talk in this chapter; I'm saving it for the next one and you'll see why.

**Miguel Artadi: **Hope this chapter can reel you in.

**GreyWolf D'ancanto:** I can't garauntee that you'll be able to wrap your head around this chapter either, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

Please enjoy this chapter of **_Break_**!

* * *

_And this is how feels when I ignore the words you spoke to me_

Cameron was patrolling the corridors of the bunker, a rifle strapped over her shoulder. The soldiers she passed gave her dirty looks, mumbled things under their breaths, though more often than not it was out loud so that others could hear. She breezed past them, paying no heed. It was pointless to expend energy or processing time on any of their remarks. She had more important things to do.

She passed the entryway to the bunker; the dogs shrunk away from her presence. The men holding the chains glared at her. Cameron knew they didn't like how she could fool the dogs. It made them feel less safe, knowing that machines could even trick one of the few remaining sure-fire ways of distinguishing human from metal. She didn't like it either, to be honest -- it meant that the chances of being infiltrated went up -- but that was just the way of things. There was nothing any of them could do to change it.

Some wanted to, but it wouldn't matter much in the end.

The rifle slung over her shoulder bounced off her leg as she walked. The steady rhythm of it was syncopated with her steps, but it never lulled her into weariness. She was alert as ever, on patrol and doing her duty.

She tried not to think about how John wasn't speaking to her.

She'd sent message after message to his office, had tried to intercept him in the halls on the rare occasion that he appeared in public. But he had found ways to get away, had made up excuses that were dire and entirely logical. Cameron had never seen him so eager to hear a mission report.

"Cameron!"

She spun and found Derek walking toward her, his face set in what she'd come to label as "pissed off." She kept her expression neutral.

"Yes?"

The captain kept walking, and grabbed her arm as he passed to drag her along with him. Cameron frowned and almost dug her feet in -- her body weight alone would stop him -- but then she remembered that she was supposed to act as human as possible, and she let him pull her down the hall.

"What?" she asked, wrenching her arm away. Derek glared but didn't speak until they had turned the corner and were away from listening ears. He pushed her against the wall and glowered down at her.

"Fix him."

Cameron frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean, whatever the hell you've done to him, you need to fix it and you need to fix it now."

"I don't understand--"

"Don't give me that program malfunction bullshit." His green eyes sparked. "You know damn well what I'm talking about."

Cameron glared back at him. "He won't talk to me," she said.

"Bullshit, he tells you everything."

"He's not talking to me. I don't know what's wrong with him, therefore I can't fix it." She pushed off of the wall and tried to leave, but Derek stopped her.

"I don't give a fuck. You're gonna go in there and you're gonna talk to him cause no one else c--"

"Captain!"

Derek turned and saw a lieutenant walking towards him; he cursed and looked back at Cameron.

"Talk to him," he hissed, "before he does something stupid."

And then he straightened and walked away, leaving Cameron leaning against the wall.

She wanted nothing more than to find John and talk to him. If he wasn't performing at his full potential, it could affect the status of the war. Rash decisions could be made, and they couldn't risk losing.

The decision was made, then. She would talk to John. Call it a matter of security. The trip to his office wouldn't take long, and she could finish up her rounds on the way. It was the perfect loophole.

Loopholes, however, walk hand in hand with Fate. And Fate, it seemed, was about to rear its ugly head.

About halfway to the officer's quarters, Cameron neared a group of soldiers that were passing around a can of moonshine. There were three of them, all red-faced and laughing loudly, and when she came into their sight they all hushed and began to stare at her like a pack of wolves.

She ignored them and continued on.

But the men thought otherwise. One of them catcalled and another whistled; a slurred voice shouted, "Hey, baby!"

Cameron paused briefly, considering whether or not to turn around and shoot him in the kneecaps. And then her HUD began flashing red.

**WARNING! OPTION: TERMINATE INACCESSIBLE.**

Cameron frowned and ran a query. Her HUD flashed again.

**DIRECTIVE FROM: JOHN CONNOR**

**DIRECTIVE: DO NOT HARM MEMBERS OF HUMAN RESISTANCE**

She frowned, biting her lip. Behind her she could hear the soldiers laughing and calling her _baby_ and _sexy_; it became background noise. Instead, she was trying not to cry.

Not that she could actually produce tears, mind you; a lack of tear ducts made that impossible. Cameron could, however, get upset, and could reproduce every other symptom of great distress: sobbing, hiccups, etc. This was one of those times.

John had ordered her not to harm any humans under any circumstances. He didn't trust her, and it was that thought that made her upset.

"Hey sweetheart, why don't you come back here?"

Cameron put her chin up, sniffing quietly, and began to walk away. She had to talk to John. They had to sort this out.

But the soldiers began to follow, and for all their drunkenness, they caught up. A hand clamped down on her shoulder and spun her around, and programming made her grab his wrist and twist it. But then her HUD flashed again, and she let go as the soldier shouted.

"You bitch--"

Another soldier grabbed her forearms and tried to hold them behind her, but Cameron resisted and again her programming was telling her to simultaneously protect herself and to not harm them. It was like a glitch, a virus. Her hard drive was contradicting itself, and it left her wide open for what the first soldier had in mind.

"You wanna play rough?" He sneered, his eyes unfocused. The other men laughed cruelly and the one holding Cameron's arms behind her back yanked hard. She grimaced as the pain sensors went off, and she stared at the man in front of her. He reeked of moonshine.

Every piece of computer in her head was screaming for her to knee him in the gut, to use the leverage of the man holding her arms to kick the first soldier in the chin, to terminate him. It would be so simple, so perfectly easy…

**DIRECTIVE: DO NOT HARM MEMBERS OF HUMAN RESISTANCE**

In her anger, Cameron let her eyes flash blue for the briefest of moments, but even in his state of intoxication, the first soldier saw it, and he grinned.

"Connor's metal? Well, this'll be funner than I thought."

The one holding her arms relaxed slightly, but not enough that Cameron could get free without hurting him.

"Is this really a good idea, man?" he said. "I mean, she's Connor's, what if he finds out?"

The first soldier sneered again. "He won't find out cause nobody'll tell him." It was a threat, and the other two nodded. "Now hold 'er still." His sneer grew. "Let's see how real Skynet made her."

Cameron's HUD erupted in a rainbow of colored warnings and prompts and directives as his hands reached toward her jumpsuit. She began to struggle again -- the only thing she could do – and the man holding her tightened his grip before the first soldier smacked her hard across the face. Her vision went fuzzy for a second, and she opened her mouth to scream, but before she could, a hand slapped over it.

She began to cry.

She screwed her face up and let out sobs that were lost behind the soldier's hand. She would have fallen to her knees if one of them hadn't been holding her up.

Their faces went from amusement to surprise and shock. But the first soldier tore open her suit anyway, and his sneer turned to a grin.

"Well look at these, boys." His hands went to her breasts and he ripped open her bra, and when she felt him touch her, she thrashed and tried to pull away. Cameron screamed; it was muffled and therefore lost.

**WARNING! TARGET'S PROXIMITY EXCEEDING STANDARD PROTOCOL. ACTION?**

**DIRECTIVE: DO NOT HARM MEMBERS OF HUMAN RESISTANCE**

**WARNING! TARGET'S PROXIMITY EXCEEDING STANDARD PROTOCOL. ACTION?**

**DIRECTIVE…**

The words kept flashing across her HUD, one after the other, repeating them over and over. She twitched involuntarily as her system tried to make a decision; she kept crying. The man holding her loosened his grip again.

"Mac, maybe this isn't such a good idea--"

"Shut the hell up, Barnes." The first soldier, Mac, slid his hands from her breasts to her hips, pushing her jumpsuit open as he went lower. "Don't you wanna see how real she is? See if the talk is true?"

The other men hesitated and didn't say anything. Cameron whimpered and twitched again. Mac's fingers slid inside the band of her underwear, and that was when a new missive appeared on her HUD.

**ALERT! PROXIMITY BREACHED**

**MANUAL CONTROL ACTIVATED**

**OVERRIDE DIRECTIVE: DO NOT HARM MEMBERS OF HUMAN RESISTANCE Y/N?**

Her foot made contact with Mac's groin. The soldier covering her mouth was cradling a bleeding hand. The man holding her arms was thrown back. Her rifle was in her hands and aimed at the first soldier's chest. All of this in a matter of seconds.

"Hold on," Mac pleaded, his face strained as he looked up at her from the floor. "Don't shoot--"

Cameron flipped the safety off.

"Look, sweetheart, I didn't mean it--"

She moved her finger to the trigger. Her HUD targeted and locked on.

"C'mon babe--"

Her jumpsuit was still open, her bra in shreds. Her sensors were still going off, but only she could hear the shrill, incessant beeping. A small icon in the corner her HUD was flashing red: an alert for a proximity breach. No one was allowed to touch her like this soldier just had. It was hardwired into her systems, classified as requiring termination unless otherwise outlined as necessary for a mission.

It was not necessary for her mission.

She was dirty. She had been touched by someone she hadn't desired physical contact from. Her emotional programming, having learned and adapted and grown after years of immersion in the human lifestyle, was making her hysterical, irrational. She wanted this man dead. She never wanted to see this man again and termination was the only way to ensure that.

She couldn't remember that she was trying to fight for acceptance. She didn't recall that she needed to talk to John.

Still running on manual override, Cameron pulled the trigger.

* * *

(Author's Note: Because I enjoy leaving things at such angsty, cliff-hanger moments...

Can anybody tell I've learned a new computer word? EVERYONE GO SEE WALL-E!!

Please **REVIEW** and tell me what you think! Reviews are what are fueling any muse I have left for this fic!


	7. I Don't Feel Any Pain

(Author's Note: Yay, another chapter! And I bet you all were expecting to wait at least another month and a half for it. But no, Dakota had some - okay, a lot - of free time on her vacation, so she decided to write more! I have no idea what sparked it, but here it is, and I'm happy that I did manage to write enough for a whole chapter.

I had a couple reviews expressing concern towards the 'attempted rape' scene. Allow me to address them.

**Metropolis Kid: **Of course I feel empathy for the TV characters; that's why it was an 'attempted' rape. I would have NEVER gone through with writing an actually rape. That's just WAY too deep for me. As for dragging it out too far, I don't think I did. This _is_ an angst fic, after all, and as you said, I need to set up future character developments. And her vision going fuzzy from being slapped? Yes, she's a Terminator. She's also a Terminator whose CPU was frying itself over trying to make a decision. Call it a side effect.

**Alana84:** John's order was that she couldn't harm them _at all_. Terrible of him to do, but the poor guy was off his rocker when it he gave it, so that's the way it is. So Cameron therefore couldn't really do much. Luckily she has some deeper running programs.

Thanks to everyone else that reviewed! Please enjoy this chapter!

* * *

_And this is how it hurts when I pretend I don't feel any pain_

"Sir?"

"Not now, Lieutenant."

"But sir-"

Connor looked up and gave the man standing in his doorway a hard look. The lieutenant shifted slightly under the weight of that stare, then swallowed and said, "Sir, I think you should come see this."

Connor highly doubted that and returned to looking at the papers laid out in front of him. The man in his doorway didn't move.

"Lieutenant…" It was a warning, and the young man knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but…

"Sir, it's about your – the Terminator, sir."

Connor looked up again. He was silent a moment, his expression completely blank per usual. And then he said in a low voice, "What about her?"

The lieutenant swallowed audibly.

"Sir, it's just… she's killed someone, sir."

* * *

In the years since he'd been thrown back in Time, Derek Reese had grown accustomed to flashbacks. Or flash-forwards; he was never really sure.

Time travel was a bitch that way.

A lot of the time, the memories (he'd stopped trying to label them as past or future) were of his brother Kyle, or about his former teammates; on occasion he even thought about his life before his first Judgment Day.

Lately, however, he'd been having the same instance replay in his head, over and over.

_Sometimes they go bad._

The Terminator's voice was like a broken record, and he was having more and more reasons to remember those words every day.

As he looked down at the dead soldier in front of him, he was hearing her voice loud and clear.

Irony was a bitch that way, too.

"Sir?"

Reese didn't look at the man next to him; he was too busy wondering where in the hell she'd run off to.

"The General's on his way, sir."

"Fine." Derek stood, feeling his knees pop as he did so. Damn old age…

"I want those two-" He pointed to the two soldiers that had been found unconscious with the dead one, "—to stay here. Connor's gonna wanna talk to 'em."

The man nodded and went over to them. Reese sighed.

His nephew wasn't gonna be happy.

* * *

The identification said he was Communications Specialist Bryan Mackey. He had a wife and two kids.

John didn't give a shit.

He also didn't take the time to wonder why he didn't.

"I want you four to search the bunker," he snapped, wrapping the dog tag chains around his hand. "Find her and bring her to my office. She's disoriented and armed; don't do anything stupid or you're good as dead."

They hesitated, and John shouted, "What the hell are you waiting for? Go!"

The four took off down the hall; the rest picked up the body of the soldier and carried it off without prompting. John was glad they had. He didn't want to look at it anymore. He gritted his teeth and exhaled through his nose, then turned to the two men standing next to the wall with his uncle.

"What happened?"

The both swallowed, then one said, "He was drunk, sir. We all were."

John stared at him. "Skip the crap, Private. What happened?"

The other one – the one with the bleeding hand – said, "Mac tried to…" He looked at his boots. "He tried to rape her, sir."

If either of them saw the flash of fire in their General's eyes, they didn't say anything. But Reese did see it, and it reminded him of someone else.

"I want you to tell me what happened," John said, his voice slow and even. "What did she do?"

"Well, sir," the first soldier stuttered, "she just sort of took it at first, and then…"

"And then she went kinda… weird."

"Weird? Weird how?"

The second soldier shrugged. "I dunno, sir, she, well…"

"She started…"

John knew he was grinding his teeth, but he didn't feel like having more than one dead body on his hands.

"Out with it."

The first soldier's brow furrowed, like he was confused, and he looked his general in the face.

"She started crying, sir."

Connor fell silent; Reese saw that the man was shaking and he took up the questioning.

"What happened then?"

The two men looked a little relieved at no longer having to relay the story to the General. Not like Captain Parker would be any easier on them, but at least he didn't have the power to do anything really terrible to them. The second soldier spoke up.

"That's when we decided that it might not be a good idea, sir."

"Yeah, we told Mac to stop-"

"—but he just kept on going-"

"—and the machine, she started to freak out, sir-"

"—and then Mac went to, well, y'know-"

"—and she just sorta froze."

"Next thing I know, I'm waking up and Mac's dead-"

"—and the metal was gone, sir. We don't know where she went."

Derek was about to speak, but John beat him to it.

"I want you to check by the infirmary, get that hand checked out," he said, and his voice sounded weary and rough. He ran a hand over his face. "You're dismissed." The two men snapped to attention, then took off down the hall. Reese looked over at his nephew and frowned.

"You're startin to look as old as me."

And it was true: there were deep creases on his brow and dark shadows under his eyes, and his shoulders were almost imperceptibly bowed under – quite literally – the weight of the world. John sighed.

"This is bad, Derek," he said, and he looked near to snapping as he began to pace. "This is really bad." He ran a hand back over his hair, pushing it away. "We gotta find her-"

"Well hell yeah, we gotta find her!" Derek stared at him. "Didn't I tell you? Didn't I say something like this would happen? She could shoot up the whole damn place before-"

And in an instant John was in his face, seething.

"Shut the fuck up, Derek!" he shouted. "You don't even know-"

"_I_ don't know? John, _you_ don't even know what the hell's wrong with her!" Derek grabbed the front of his shirt. "So I suggest you find her and you fix whatever the fuck the problem is. Then you can get a move on fixing whatever the hell is wrong with you two." He sighed and lowered his voice. "Look, whatever it is, it's messing with _both_ your heads. Fix it or I swear to God, Connor, there's gonna be Hell to pay."

He let go of his nephew's collar; John stumbled backward and set his jaw and glared. Derek had a dual vision of his brother and Sarah. It was like arguing with both of them at once. But he kept going; it was the only way you could've won with any of them.

"You gotta remember, John. You got the Fate of the whole damn race in your hands."

"Thanks, Reese," John spat. "I'd forgotten."

Derek glared back. "Just make sure you got your priorities straight," he said, and then he left John in the hallway alone with his thoughts.

They always did make the worst company.

* * *

John felt like he was choking. He realized that his hands were shaking and that he'd wrapped the dog tags around his palm so tight his fingers were purple from lack of blood. And then in the midst of a violent wave of anger, he threw the tags down the hall as far as he could, and fell against the wall. He was having trouble breathing. His throat was constricting and relaxing in spasms; it was like he was gagging and suffocating at the same time.

He was trying not to cry.

John slid down the wall and landed in a heap on the floor. Everything in him was pins and needles, knives and land mines. He knew he was taking too big a risk staying out there, where anyone could happen upon him. Wouldn't that cause a scene? General Connor, found curled up into a pathetic mass, crying his eyes out like an angry three year old. It would lead to questioning about whether or not he was right for the job, possible usurpation…

He slammed his fist into the ground and bit his bottom lip as hard as he could. Goddammit, he was _not_ going to cry like a little kid. He was _not_ a toddler that had just scraped his knee and needed his mother to make it better.

But what he wouldn't give…

_You have to be better than them,_ she would say. _You have to be tougher, stronger. You can't let them see you're weak._

_Easier said than done, Mom…_

But Cameron… oh god…

John's head fell back against the wall and his eyes shut. Raped? How could…?

But she'd gotten away. She'd gotten away, she was fine…

She'd killed a man.

John caught his breath and his eyes snapped open. He looked around instinctively; he was still alone. But god…

She'd disobeyed his orders. She'd _killed_ someone. A chill ran up his spine.

If she'd managed to override one order, what would stop her from overriding the rest?

_No,_ he told himself. _You know her better than that._

But did he?

_Stop it. She's Cameron. She's scared shitless and she doesn't know what's going on. She was nearly raped…_ He looked at the bloodstain on the floor and a monster inside of him reared its ugly head.

_Bastard deserved what he got._

But a soldier was dead. The still-reasonable part of his brain knew that panic would ensue if anyone found out that he'd been murdered by a reprogrammed Terminator.

Never mind that that soldier been about to rape her.

Never mind that that reprogrammed Terminator was about as human as the ones persecuting her.

Never mind that John _loved_ her.

Setting his jaw, he stood and looked down at the blood on the floor. He didn't want to imagine what had gone on. He didn't want to see her helpless because he'd told her that she wasn't allowed to harm any humans. It was his fault that she was somewhere else, confused or hurt or worse…

He had to find her. He was going to fix this.

If he didn't, losing her would be the least of his problems.

* * *

(Author's Note: Okay, I'm expecting some good reviews for this chapter! Lots of good comments! And please, constructive criticism is always appreciated. Now **REVIEW!**


	8. Breathe Into Me, Part II

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Terminator franchise. I wish I did. Then I would be rich!

**Author's Note:** ...uh, hi everyone! ...Okay, I get it, it's been for freakin EVER since my last update, and I apologize! Admitably, it was because of my lack of interest. And without the first season episodes to reboost that interest, I couldn't write. I quite literally had to FORCE myself to write. But despite the... good god, the whole MONTH its taken for me to write this chapter (actually I wrote the bulk of it last night at about midnight in one of those crazy spur-of-the-moment things...) I'd like to thank you all for your continual support. So without further ado (and cuz I know most of you skipped this anyway...), please enjoy!

* * *

_Breathe your life into me  
I can't feel you  
I'm falling, falling faster_

It had taken only a few hours, but they were years in his mind. Every minute that passed was a minute that she could malfunction, lash out.

Every second he worried that she might kill someone else.

But for every bad hand Fate deals, she lays out a better one.

His mind full of doubt and worry, Connor made his way back to his personal quarters, his head hanging just barely. Those he passed moved out of his way, silent and keeping their eyes to the floor.

He didn't notice them.

In retrospect, he'd wonder at it like he always did. He had been born to save the human race, and on a daily basis he hardly paid attention to them. He supposed that was the price he had to pay. _Lose a few, save a hundred._ _Better not to get attached._ Of course, thinking of his own men like pets he couldn't keep didn't settle his mind, either.

He shut the heavy metal door behind him and then dropped into his chair and breathed a sigh. Where the hell was she?

That was when he heard the sound of running water coming from his bathroom.

John turned his head and listened. When he was sure he wasn't hearing things, he stood and went over to the bathroom door. It was cracked open, and he reached out and carefully pushed it. A wave of steam drifted across his vision, and when it cleared, his eyes settled on the shower stall.

_Cameron…_

She was on the floor of the shower, still in her blue jumpsuit. Her knees were pulled up to her chest and her head was down; her dark brown hair hung in wet tendrils down her shoulders. The water was like a curtain between them, and she looked up when he walked in, her brown eyes wide and blank. If he wouldn't have thought it sounded weak, he would have admitted that his heart broke at the sight of her sitting there, soaked through.

"Cam."

In two strides he was in the stall and kneeling down to pull her to him. She went easily, leaning into the crook his neck as he wrapped his strong arms around her. He pulled her onto his lap and buried his face in her wet hair, squeezing his eyes shut and inhaling the scent of her. She clung to him tight, and John began to rock her gently, ignoring the water pouring over them both. She was all right, that was all that mattered. She was all right…

"John…"

"What is it?"

She looked away, hiding her eyes. She didn't answer. He didn't prod her.

As they sat there, something in him said that he needed to run a full diagnostic test, that he needed to figure out what had happened.

John sighed into her hair and pulled her closer. The water was freezing – hot water being a precious commodity that lasted only five minutes – and he knew if he stayed in it much longer he'd get sick. His pistol was still holstered on his belt and would be useless in a few minutes. Officers were still searching for a possibly-rogue Terminator. A man was dead.

And all of that paled in light of the fact that _she was safe._

John pulled away and cupped her cheeks in his hands, peering at her through both the streaming water and – damn his emotions – his own relieved tears. He had to make sure. He had to know.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice cracking. In a frantic moment he pushed wet ropes of dark hair away from her face and made her look up at him. The lifelessness he saw in her eyes made him ask her again.

"Cam, c'mon. Are you all right? C'mon…"

But she just hung her head. His hands slid to her shoulders and they rested there a moment as a voice whispered in his head.

_This is your fault…_

"Cameron, please…"

She refused to look at him, but she didn't move away. Her hands rested gently on his thigh, her soaked body pressed against his side. John let his head drop to lay on her shoulder; he took a few deep breaths in a vain attempt to calm down.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "This is all my fault…"

Again she didn't move, nor did she reply. She was stone next to him. But he knew he deserved her silence, and he pressed on.

"I never should've given you that order. I don't know what the hell I was thinking." He rubbed his forehead against her shoulder, an unconscious gesture of submission; he was ready and willing to take the blame.

"I take it back," he said into the wet fabric of her jumpsuit. "I take it back…"

He felt her stiffen ever so slightly, knew the order had been erased from her memory, but still she didn't move.

"I'm not asking you to forgive me. Just, please, tell me you're okay. Tell me I don't gotta worry about you—"

"—Killing someone?"

His head snapped up and he stared – rather bravely, in fact – into her suddenly-furious brown eyes. But he was so relieved that she'd spoken it took a moment to reply.

"No! That's not what I was gonna say—"

She shook her head, her expression falling.

"It's why you gave me the order in the first place."

"I was wrong to do it, I know. I was stupid and stressed and—"

"—You didn't trust me."

He tried to grab her hand, but she stood up and stared down at him.

"Why don't you trust me, John?"

He stood and turned off the water; the resulting silence made him wish he hadn't.

He didn't know what to say.

"Cam, please, don't—"

"Why don't you trust me, John?"

"I do trust you—"

Her expression – sad, beaten – never left her face as she repeated, "Why don't you trust me, John?"

"Cameron—"

"Why don't you trust me?"

"Stop it—"

"Why don't you trust me, John?"

"You're being stupid—"

"Why don't you trust me?"

"Cam—"

"Why don't you—"

"Knock it off—"

"Why don't you—"

"_It's _them_ I don't trust, okay?!_"

She stopped and stared at him, her eyes widening almost imperceptibly. John was glaring back, his ears roaring with the tempest in his brain. He felt wild, about to break. He didn't want to, he couldn't…

He snapped.

"Don't you see?" he half-shouted. "Don't you get it? They hate you, Cam. Most of them would do anything to see your chip smashed into a billion pieces. You've saved Derek's ass I don't know how many times and he _still_ doesn't trust you. And you know why? Its because it's been preached to 'em since Day One that what you are means the death of the whole goddamn human race but you're supposed to be on their side? They can't think like that. They're not capable of accepting you."

He took a deep breath and fixed a softer gaze on her.

"I don't trust them because of what they _do_ have the capability to do, and that's hurt you. All they need is one reason, one excuse, and they'll find a way to get rid of you. They won't care, Cam. They've been trained to take down the machines and that's what they'll do unless I protect you from them."

He reached out and took her hand and squeezed it tight.

"I can't let that happen to you," he said quietly, staring down at their hands. "I can't stand to even think about them trying to hurt you." He brought his gaze back up and said a little louder, "I gave you that order so that they wouldn't have the excuse to hurt you. If you didn't hurt anyone they'd think you were safe and everything would be fine…" He frowned and looked away. "Look how fucking well that worked."

Cameron, who had been silent the whole time, squeezed his hand and whispered, "John…"

He looked back at her, and Cameron immediately took him in her arms. They clung to each other, holding on for dear life. John let out a shaky breath.

"I'm so sorry…"

Cameron pulled away slightly and ran her hand across his cheek and back over his wet hair, her eyes still sad.

"It'll be all right," she said.

He frowned, feeling the perpetual lump in his throat tighten. "You sure?"

She nodded. "Yes. No physical damage was done and my processors have addressed any resulting system malfunctions. I am running at above ninety percent capacity."

"And the other ten percent?"

She laid her head on his chest; John didn't push her any more. He was simply grateful she'd forgiven him. She hadn't said it out loud, but she had. She was speaking to him. She was okay. Everything was all right…

"John?"

He looked down at her, ready to do anything she asked. He would move the whole goddamn planet if she asked him to.

But she didn't. Instead, she leaned in close to whisper against his shoulder.

"Help me forget."

* * *

(Author's Note: I'm thinking that there will be at least two, maybe three, more chapters. I can't guarantee that the next one will be updated soon -- considering I have to write it first. But don't fear! I wont take another month, I promise. Oh, and for those of you worried about _Solace_, I'm working on finishing up another chapter of that too. I want to get it posted before next Monday.

Many thanks to all who reviewed, and special thanks to Lily1121 for the shower idea. You are all so wonderful!

So, you wonderful people, please **REVIEW** and tell me what you think!!)


	9. How I Disappear

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Terminator franchise.**

**Author's Note: **Okay, skipping all the apologizing for not updating, blah blah blah... Onto important things! Whatever I said about having this timeline figured out in (I think) the fourth chapter... I lied. I have no idea. But this chapter and the next might clear that up... If its hazy, please help me figure it out.

I wanted to get away from John and Cameron in this one and explore different viewpoints. Tell me if it flowed well enough. Enjoy!

* * *

_And this is how I disappear when I throw myself away_

There was talk.

Being forced to live underground, survivors and soldiers had little to look forward to during their day. Food was scarce, and entertainment even more so.

So when there was a rumor, the tunnels buzzed with more than just the sounds of a bunker.

There was talk about the General. Word was that he hadn't been seen outside of his personal quarters in weeks.

There was talk about that reprogrammed Terminator of Connor's. That she'd gone bad. That she'd killed someone. That she had disappeared and no one could find her.

People prattled on about it, having nothing better to do. Was Connor really fit to lead? Had the metal finally gotten close enough to kill him? There had always been talk that she hadn't really been reprogrammed – there were infiltrator models, and she was a particularly well-made one; what if it had been Skynet's plan all along to get into their hierarchy deep enough to take out the brain? Did a technologically-sentient being understand the phrase 'kidney shot'?

But the biggest worry on the minds of those holed up in the bunkers was this: Where was she? Why wasn't Connor trying to find her so her chip could be smashed?

Derek Reese was on his way to find the answer to that himself.

He'd just had to talk to the family of the poor bastard that had been shot. He'd had to tell his wife ― his widow ― that he'd been shot by a malfunctioned Terminator. He'd had to tell his blond haired, blue-eyed daughter that her daddy was dead.

Derek _hated_ telling people that one of their family had been killed.

Reese sighed through this nose and turned the corner to his General's quarters. Perry was talking with a lieutenant outside the door; Derek noticed the headset in his ear was bent away to the side ― useless. So he couldn't get Connor to talk either. Perfect.

Perry noticed him and dismissed the lieutenant then walked over to Derek. The look on his face said it all.

"He's in there," he said, and he sounded weary. "We just don't know if he's alive. Bastard changed the emergency access code on the blast door."

The 'fuck' escaped his lips before Derek could stop it. Perry nodded his head in concurrence.

"She's in there, too," Derek said. "He wouldn't have locked himself in otherwise."

Again Perry nodded. "What do we do?"

This time Derek sighed audibly, shaking his head.

"We wait."

* * *

"Derek, did you hear?"

Derek Reese, 132nd SOC, looked away from his broken magazine to glance at his younger brother. He was walking toward him, a plasma rifle slung over his shoulder, his eyes bright.

"What?"

Kyle shrugged off his rifle and slid down the wall to sit next to him. He laid the gun across his knees and took a deep breath like he was getting ready to relay a Norse epic in its entirety. Not like anyone remembered what in the hell a Norse epic _was._

"A metal got into the central bunker, took out some soldiers."

Derek turned back to his magazine, grunting in reply. Kyle didn't seem to find this as a sign to end the conversation, and so continued.

"Apparently they haven't found it yet. It's still wandering around the place."

Another grunt ― Derek was doing his best to ignore him. Kyle persisted.

"They think it was a new infiltrator model. It got past the dogs, even."

His brother didn't even grunt this time. Kyle rolled his eyes and sighed, leaning back against the cold concrete wall.

"Is a busted mag really more interesting?"

"I'm going out on recon in three hours; I need it fixed."

"Just borrow mine."

"Yours sucks."

"But it'll work."

"Mine holds more shot."

Kyle rolled his eyes again (even after the apocalypse little brothers continued to be a pain) and pulled the magazine off of his rifle.

"Take mine," he said, holding it out in front of Derek. Derek stared at it, then shook his head and snatched it out of the offered hand. Kyle smirked.

"See? Not difficult."

"Not difficult to what?"

"To pull your head out of your ass."

Derek shoved Kyle in the shoulder. Hard. Kyle pushed back and a tiny skirmish broke out, quickly ended when the younger's plasma magazine went crashing to the floor and shattered.

"_Shit._"

"Great, look what you did!" Kyle reached out and picked up the pieces one by one. Derek picked his back up and began digging the dirt out of it again.

"Told you it sucked."

Kyle just glared and put the pieces in his pocket. He was silent for a while, and Derek managed to get something accomplished on his magazine, but then Kyle frowned.

"What do you think it means?" he said.

"What?"

"The infiltrator that got past the dogs. What do you think it means?"

Derek knew Kyle knew the answer, but he also knew that he wanted another opinion. To hear it from someone else.

"It means that the bastards are getting smarter."

"Yeah, but…" He looked around at the soldiers and children lining the halls. "What does it mean for us?"

Derek sighed and leaned back against the wall.

"It means we're not safe anymore," he said in a low voice. "Now we're never safe."

* * *

Evelyn watched as the soldiers carried her daddy down the hall on a stretcher, her blue eyes wide and unblinking. Her mommy was crying next to her, saying things that she didn't quite understand. She wanted to know where Michael was, but he wasn't back yet. She held onto her mommy's hand tightly, because she thought that would stop mommy from being sad.

It didn't stop Mommy from being sad.

Evelyn didn't understand what had happened, not really. The man with the green eyes had told her that her daddy was dead, and Evelyn had seen her daddy. He was white and cold. Evelyn had seen dead bodies before. Her daddy was dead. She just didn't understand why.

Maybe she could find somebody who could tell her why her daddy was dead.

Maybe she'd find the nice smart Cameron lady and ask her to explain it.

(Author's End Note: A few more chapters to go, maybe two. Please review; comments are in dire need.)


	10. I Don't Know Myself Anymore

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Terminator franchise.**

**Author's Note:** Look who's on a roll! I updated _Solace_ and _Break_! As usual, so sorry for the long wait; I know in the last chapter I promised it wouldn't be another month before I posted another chapter, and here it is almost two! Gosh, am I a procrastinator! Well, I feel really bad about never updating regularly, so I'm forcing myself to write another chapter in ALL of my stories -- you guys are lucky that T:SCC was the first one I went to.

I'm apologizing ahead of time, Mr. Artadi, because I feel that this will be another chapter that has you pulling out your hair and shouting "WHAT?!" at your computer. So, my apologies to everyone. Please enjoy. ^^

* * *

_And this is who I am when I don't know myself anymore_

Cameron watched.

She'd been doing a lot of that lately, when she thought back on it. She'd grown accustomed to sitting back and watching. After all, there wasn't a much else to do inside the post-Apocalyptic living quarters of the slightly-mad leader of a dwindling species.

She cocked her head, briefly occupying herself with updating her species records. Her last census informed her that there were still close to five hundred scattered around the former Los Angeles area, but she knew these records to be dated ― two weeks away from recent updates on her memory in a constantly-changing environment made the numbers old and thus useless.

Abandoning the search, Cameron's HUD returned to her previous focus: John.

With curious eyes she watched him as she had for the last week, silent and unobtrusive. He was hunched over his desk ― a now-common position for him ― with his bottom lip between his teeth, scribbling away on some scrap of paper or another. His face was dirty but his eyes were bright, almost feverish.

Cameron wondered if he was sick.

She would have asked him, but he wouldn't have heard her. He had been like this for the past three days ― focused, determined, writing and drawing away, making notes on blueprints and maps and never once slowing down. He seldom slept and hardly ate, which concerned her, but she didn't pester him.

This was mostly because it was an improvement.

After John had found her in the shower and had taken back the order he had shut them in his quarters. He changed the emergency access code on the blast door without telling anyone, even Derek (or especially ― Cameron hadn't decided yet), and shut them in. It was his remedy to keeping her safe, she reasoned. He wasn't sure what to do about the situation yet, so he would keep her locked up until he figured it out.

She supposed she should be angry about that, but she couldn't bring herself to simulate the emotion. She knew that he was doing only what he thought was right, and thankfully this time it didn't involve giving her poorly-planned orders, so she was all right with it. Plus, she was locked up with him, so that was all right as well.

For the first few days they hadn't done much but lie in bed. He didn't sleep much, and when he did it was fitfully, and Cameron would watch him toss and turn and sweat from nightmares and dreams. She would wake him up and he would cling to her and apologize over and over, and Cameron would tell him that it was all right, but it was never enough. He would lie awake after that, staring at the low ceiling, his brow creased in deep thought. She watched him then, too, and wondered what he was thinking, but she never asked, no matter how badly she wanted to. She didn't ask because she recognized the look on his face as he thought.

Grim determination. Whatever it was that he was thinking about, he was mulling through deep and thick waters and he didn't need to be distracted by questions. He would figure it out.

So Cameron sat back and watched. She offered help when he asked for it, which was usually by sending her a look of such blatant hopelessness that her only response was to take him into her arms and hold him. He whispered that he loved her and that he would find a way to fix it all, and she nodded and told him yes, he would.

But progress was slow, and there was a lot of sitting and pacing and muttering and staring at the ceiling.

And Cameron watched.

And then, nine days into their voluntary confinement, John had an idea. He had been lying on the pallet on the floor, staring at the ceiling while she ran diagnostics on her systems and had sat up so suddenly that it took her a moment to pause in her sweeps and react. Before she could move he was grabbing her and kissing her on the lips, and when he pulled away he was grinning from ear to ear and it was such a change from his previous doldrums that Cameron laughed.

"What?" she asked him, and he just went to his desk and began riffling through papers and maps and tech manuals, smiling all the while.

"John?"

"I've got it, Cam. I've got it." He looked at her and his green eyes were sparkling. "I'm gonna figure this out."

After that, he'd set to work, and he hadn't moved from the desk since. But since it was an improvement on his previous disposition, Cameron didn't question him.

It was only now that she began to worry about the strain his work was putting on him.

"John?"

The scratching of pencil on paper, the rustle of maps being moved. But no sound of acknowledgment.

"John?"

A grunt as the pencil flew across the schematic.

"John, you have been working for approximately three days, nine hours, and twenty-three minutes straight. Perhaps you should take a break."

He grunted again, but didn't stop his work. His eyes were still bright. Cameron frowned. Time to try a different approach.

She tilted her head and gave him a concerned look. "John, you're tired," she said. "You need to sleep, to eat something."

"I can't, Cam. I gotta figure this out."

His voice was rough and cracked because he hadn't used it in a while. Cameron stood and went to his desk and put a hand on his arm. John sighed and put the pencil down, then looked up at her.

His green eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, and he looked more worn out than she'd even seen him, but the determination she'd seen before was still there. But he was tired, and anyone could tell.

"John, please. Take a break." She smiled weakly down at him. "You haven't talked to me in three days."

He looked frowned at that, and he rubbed his hand over his eyes. "You're right. I should…" But then his glance fell across his desk, and he sighed, picking up the pencil again and tapping the remains of the eraser on the paper-covered surface. He didn't finish his sentence.

Cameron smile fell to a frown and she followed his gaze to the papers. There were many schematics, and she recognized maps of the surrounding area and supply lists. What was he…?

"John?"

He jumped slightly and looked back up at her.

"What exactly are you planning to do?" She fixed her brown gaze back on him, curiosity mixing with apprehension.

The remnants of that first grin three days ago pulled at the corner of his lips, but it was drowned by a sudden furrowing of his brows, and Cameron became more aware than ever before of the wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes and mouth.

The image saddened her beyond words.

"Cam, I…" He looked at the papers, then back at her. "I think I've found a way, but…"

"But…?"

"But I don't know if I can do it."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…I mean, I don't think… I don't know if it's even right, if we can even…" He gestured at the schematics, at the maps and at the myriad other wrinkled and stained documents lying upon his desk, and Cameron realized he was avoiding having to tell her something.

She frowned. "John?"

"I don't know if it's the right time or if I'm gonna mess things up even more or if it'll even work―"

She looked away from him and pulled one of the blueprints toward her, cocking her head slightly as she began to read the numbers and figures and John's messy scrawl next to them. The schematic began to appear on her HUD and her systems automatically searched out its faults and filled in the correct formulas and ratios. But she didn't need to look for long to figure out what he was planning. At once her head snapped to him.

"John?"

He nodded, knowing she'd figured it out, knowing she knew what he had in mind. And he could tell that it killed her as much as it was killing him.

Because after he'd come up with the idea, the reality of what he had to do set in. He hated it but it was the only way. He'd realized that he couldn't fix things without giving up one crucial thing.

Her.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I am ridiculously cruel... Plus, this was kinda how I planned on separating the chapters anyway, so there was gonna be a cliffhanger anyway! Please review!!!


	11. What I Choose

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Terminator franchise...

**Author's Note:** hehe... Hi everyone! I apologize for the... *cough* eight month wait... but this chapter was a bitch to write. I just couldn't get it started, I must have four different versions on paper, and once I got the first half down (that was around May, I think), the second half decided to evade me too. I finally forced myself to finish, and I'm comfortable with it, but there's something still... sad about it.

Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing in the meantime; it means a lot to know that people are still interested in how this story ends. Please enjoy!

* * *

_(And this is what I choose when it's all left up to me)_

_Is this what I'm supposed to do?_

_Is this how it's supposed to work out?_

_Is doing this really the only way?_

A mirthless chuckle escaped his throat.

_Don't kid yourself, Johnny. You know it is._

He wrote a side note to the lead engineer on the edge of the schematic before handing it off to the man on the other side of the table.

_But what if it doesn't work? What if it's the wrong time to—?_

"Anything else, sir?"

_You're the one who decides when the time is right. Haven't you learned anything?_

"That'll be all, Private. You're dismissed."

"Yessir."

_You know that you're the one to start the whole chain reaction. _He sighed through his nose and shuffled through the blueprints before him. _So man up and do it._

"Sir?"

He turned in his seat and met green eyes.

"What is it, Captain?"

_Even Derek knows that it's right._

"You called for me, sir?"

_That and he can't wait to be rid of her…_

"I need you to do something for me, Parker."

_I need you to trust me._

"Anything, sir."

John couldn't suppress the ironic smirk that crept to the corner of his lips. _You wouldn't say that if you knew…_

"I need you to find someone for me."

A flash of recognition in his eyes. A nod of the head, small, indiscreet.

_I'm sorry, Derek…_

"When do you want me to leave?"

"As soon as you're ready."

He nodded again and turned to leave.

"Captain."

An expectant look from a war-lined face.

"You know what to do."

_And I hope you forgive me for making you the one that has to do it._

Derek nodded again.

"You're dismissed, Captain."

He watched him leave, then turned back to the table and pulled another schematic from the pile.

_I told you you'd have to be the one to find Kyle and get him ready. You knew you'd be it. Even after you said you wouldn't… but it had to be you. We both knew that. The second this thing is working, he has to be ready._

"Sir, the recon team from the north sector is back."

"Send them in."

A lieutenant and a corporal filed into the room, their eyes glancing down at the table top for a split second before meeting his. John searched their faces for any trace of what they were about to tell him.

_Please tell me you failed. Please say you couldn't get to them, that they were damaged, anything…_

_Please say we can't finish this goddamn thing._

"How'd it go, Corporal?"

"We salvaged two engines, sir."

He kept his head down, pretending to be engrossed in the blueprint.

_Fuck…_

"That's good news. Any men lost?"

"No, sir."

He looked up and smiled, almost meaning it. "Even better." He nodded his head, both to them and to the man at the door.

"You're all dismissed."

A mumbled "Yessir" and the shutting of the door preceded her voice.

"John?"

His eyes shut and he took a deep breath.

It hurt when she was around the project. Every day they progressed, every new development they made, every step closer they came to success, was a day and a step closer to losing her.

"Cameron, I thought I said—"

Her hands rested on his tense shoulders and he relaxed almost instantly, a sigh escaping his throat.

"I know. But I haven't seen you for hours."

There was resignation in her voice. It hurt her, but she knew that it was necessary. For the project, and for him.

_But you're pushing her away, you idiot. When you need her the most, you're—_

"I know, I'm sorry. It's just…"

_What shit excuse can you give her, Connor? What's gonna be good enough?_

"…I've been busy."

_Good one._

She nodded, though he couldn't see it.

"You want me to go."

_No. Don't leave. Please…_

"I'm sorry, Cam. I gotta work. I gotta figure this out."

"John?"

_I mean it. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm such an ass. I need you—_

She laid a kiss on his cheek.

"I love you."

He turned in his seat and met her brown eyes, and then he pulled her down and pressed his mouth against her soft lips, apologizing in the only way he could.

_I'm so sorry…_

His tongue ran along her bottom lip.

_I'm sorry for starting this. _

His arms went around her waist and he pulled her to his lap where she lightly sat.

_I'm sorry for keeping you away._

Her mouth opened to him and he plunged his tongue inside, tasting her.

_I'm sorry that this is my only option. _

He kissed her hard, relentlessly, desperately clutching her to him.

_I'm sorry that I have to do this…_

She pulled away and smiled sadly at him, and he squeezed her hand so hard it would've broken if she had been anyone — anything — else.

Her eyes said she understood what he was trying to say, and she squeezed back.

"I don't wanna do this," John choked out. "I don't want to—"

"I know. But John, don't you see?" Her voice was a soft whisper, like she was consoling a child.

But maybe that's what this was. Was he being childish?

"This is how it has to be."

He shook his head violently, feeling angry tears in his eyes.

_Way to man up, Connor. You're not fifteen anymore._

"I don't know if I can do this, Cam. I can't—"

She smiled that sad smile again and cupped his cheek in her hand. "I know. But you knew this would happen eventually."

He stared at her, anger starting to creep in from the recesses of his mind. How could she be so calm? How could she be so goddamned _calm? _

_Didn't she get it?_

_Didn't she understand that this was killing him?_

"It doesn't matter," he said, his voice tense. "It doesn't matter if I've known my whole damn life. It doesn't change the fact that I don't want to do it."

She nodded. "You're going to miss me."

A long time ago, he would've resented her for her bluntness. He would have denied the statement, would have told her how stupid it was even if it was such a blatant fact. He would have ignored her, or have left the room, or would have left the house. He would have pushed her away, shut her out, run from her and the truth.

A long time ago, he didn't have to admit that she was right.

* * *

_Three weeks later…_

The message was sent to him over the radio.

"_It's ready."_

A mere two words, but they might as well have been the finger that pushed the button that made Skynet self-aware, the way he dreaded them.

He had been sitting at his desk, not working, just thinking about things. About the young man he had just spoken to, who was so different from the boy that he had saved from Century. About the food rations that were running low, and about the team he would have to send out to retrieve more. About the Terminator lying on the mattress in the next room, who was pretending to be asleep for his sake.

He had turned his head slightly, listening to the silence, closing his eyes and sighing through his nose. He didn't want to be sitting there, waiting for the news to come; he dreaded the moment when his radio would break silence.

That was why, when it finally did and a tinny voice told him, _"It's ready,"_ John Connor didn't respond at first. He simply stared at the speaker, willing himself to believe that he hadn't heard it, that it was his imagination, that he was just sleeping and this was the same nightmare he'd been having every night since he'd come up with the plan…

But it was reality, and John Connor picked up the handset and said without emotion into it, "Good."

The handset fell from his grip, the sound of it hitting the desk loud and painful to his ears. But he wasn't hearing it. His mind was buzzing.

Without thinking about it he stood and went to his room, stopping in the doorway and leaning against the frame. She was lying on the mattress, on her side, her knees pulled up and one hand curled near her chin. Her hair was spread on the pillow; her skin looked pale in the harsh glare of the lights.

A vice went around his chest, tightening painfully.

He stepped into the room, moving silently, and sat on the edge of the bed, his hand near her bare foot.

_How many times had she walked around his house barefoot in the middle of the night, keeping a silent vigil over him and his mother?_

He crept onto the bed, laying down gently beside her, watching her face, her soft relaxed features.

_How many nights had she spent doing the same thing? Watching him sleep?_

He reached out a hand and touched her cheek; brown eyes snapped open and met his. A smile graced her lips. He tried to smile back.

_How many times had she caught him off guard just by smiling at him?_

She took his hand in hers, and he leaned forward and kissed her lips, wanting to tell her how much he loved her, but unable to find the words.

_How many times had he struggled for them before? How many times had he found himself unable to tell her everything he wanted to?_

She kissed him back, opening her mouth to him, seeming to say that she knew.

_How many times had she known? How many times had words not been needed?_

_How many times would he be grateful to her for knowing? For understanding? For simply being there, even when he couldn't tell her that he needed her to be?_

He pulled her to him, closing the distance between them, wondering once more at how small she was and how easily she could tear him apart if she wanted.

_How many times had he wished that she would, just so he wouldn't have to be where he was now?_

Hands traveled over skin, pulling away clothes and bringing them closer together. Skin moved against skin, breaths caught, words of love were murmured against warm flesh.

He needed this, he needed her. He needed her to be there, to make him human. To make him feel. How was he supposed to feel without her there?

"John…"

He kissed her lips, tasting salt. But he didn't care if he was crying. He was glad he was.

Because it meant that he was still human.

He was sending her away. He was purposefully sending her away from him. He was being cold and calculating and doing what was best for the survival of the human race.

But he was crying, and he was still human.

"I love you," he said to her as they lay there together. "I love you…"

She whispered that she knew, that she had always known. That she would know even when he sent her away. That she wouldn't really know why she knew, but that it couldn't be erased from her memory. That she would know even before his younger self knew. That she would help him learn. That she would help him to be human, and to forget when he wasn't.

She whispered that she loved him, too.

And John Connor held her to him, and began counting down the days until he — at fifteen or a forty — would hold her again.

* * *

(Author's Note: There is an epilogue that is already written, it just needs to be typed. Can you believe that its over?! Please **REVIEW!!!**)


	12. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Terminator franchise. The poem, however, belongs solely to me, despite how much it probably sucks.**

(Author's Note: Yeah, I know I said I'd get it up within a week of posting chapter 11, but then I moved into college and that sorta got lost in a long list of stuff to do... But hey! It's finally finished! ...omigosh... it's finally finished. *sniffle*

The poem was written forever ago and was the original catalyst for this whole story. I understand it sucks royally, but hey, I'm a prose writer, not a poet. Besides, I told myself it would be in the epilogue, so here it is. Please enjoy.)

Epilogue:

_Living amidst this smoke and ash  
Somewhere between lost and found  
Trying my best to erase the past  
While hiding underground_

_Duality's in my nature  
Fighting my only way  
Keeping away a fracture  
Doing my best to stay_

_The casualties: too many  
The toll is higher still  
The fault is mine, they're saying  
And I break against my will_

_But when I feel I'm falling  
When the guilt's too much to bear  
I hear your sweet voice calling  
And I shed the pain I wear_

_Help me keep forgetting  
This unbearable life of games  
Don't let me keep regretting  
The person I became_

* * *

His eyes were green.

That was the first thing Model TOK-715 examined about the man in front of her. After that she did a face-mapping scan, detailing every wrinkle and scar and committing them all to memory.

IDENTIFIED, her HUD flashed. TARGET: JOHN CONNOR.

Her head tilted slightly to the side as she sized him up.

He didn't seem to pose that much of a threat.

"Cameron?"

His voice, she noted, was deep and rough, perhaps _raw._ Yes, _raw_ was the correct adjective to use.

"Cameron? Answer me."

She looked at him, eyes intent.

"Is that my name?"

Something happened to his face; a fleeting shadow of something had passed over him. She frowned, somewhat unaware she could and was doing so.

"Yes," John Connor said. "That's the name you'll answer to when you arrive in 1999. Cameron Phillips."

Her head cocked again, her eyes fixed on him.

"Is that where I'm going?"

John Connor nodded. "You'll find your mission parameters—"

She stiffened a little as the information streamed past on her HUD.

"—are already programmed. Do you have any questions before you're dispatched?"

She considered, and then nodded. John Connor looked at her expectantly.

"Why do you look sad?" she asked.

The fleeting shadow appeared again, vanishing a little slower than last time.

"Sad? Why would you say that?"

Her head tilted. "I don't know. It just seemed like the right thing to do."

He stared at her a moment, and then a smirk crept to his mouth. She could not yet identify it as an ironic one.

"Well don't worry, Cameron. I'm not sad. Now, anything else?"

She considered, then shook her head.

John Connor nodded. "Right then." He turned and walked away, putting the protective shield between himself and the silent machine. Cameron took her place inside it, and it roared to life.

As the displacement energy crackled around her, Cameron watched John Connor. Her mission flashed on her HUD, but still she wondered, even as the steel chamber around her disappeared.

Why did John Connor look so sad?

* * *

In every school he'd ever been in over the past five years, John Connor had dealt with the kind of teacher that was droning on now. They talked, going on and on and on about some bullshit or another, and he was fairly sure that he'd heard it enough times to allow himself to instead brood over _how much it fucking sucked being there…_

"What's your name?"

John jumped slightly in his chair, glancing back at the girl that had asked him the question. She was pretty, with dark hair and smiling brown eyes. He stared a moment before whispering back, "John."

She smiled at him, and he thought it was the most amazing smile he'd ever seen. "I'm Cameron."

He didn't know what else to say, so he just nodded, feeling stupid. Of course, that feeling only increased tenfold when Mr. What's-His-Name told him off for talking.

But regardless of how dumb he felt, he couldn't help sneaking a glance back at the girl — Cameron — again. Maybe he was just being paranoid, but there was something about her, something _different_.

Maybe it was just 'cause she'd spoken to him. Of her own accord. Without any prompting on his part. He could never get used to that, no matter how often it happened. Which, in case you hadn't been paying attention, it didn't.

He sighed quietly to himself as he turned back in his seat. No, better to just let it go. She wasn't interested in him at all. She was just being friendly, pitying the new kid.

Yeah, better just to let it go.

* * *

(Author's Note: I wanna thank everyone who has stuck with me through the painful course of writing this story, but there are some reviewers worth special mention: **Metropolis Kid **and **Alana84** for their continued support and patience; **SSG Michael B Jackson** for his insightful and very helpful comments on dialogue; and last but not least **Miguel Artadi** for consistenly nudging, pushing, and occasionally threatening me to write more -- without you, sir, who knows if this story would have ever been finished.

It's been a fun and crazy ride -- thank you again for reading and reviewing!

~Dakota423)


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